


Wanderer 2

by Guardian_of_Hope



Series: Wanderer [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Gen, Missions, Mystery, squadron building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-29 14:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_of_Hope/pseuds/Guardian_of_Hope
Summary: Misha's settling into life in the Alliance, and things are going in directions he never expected.





	1. Chapter 1

It was the third week of training before the rumors reached their cell.  Apparently, the Alliance had three cells wiped out from within, although no one seemed to be sure how.  For Misha, it was a background to his own struggles.  The X-Wing was an easy ship to understand, but it was an adjustment to the ships Misha was used to flying.  Not to mention that after his first day of meditation, someone had always been around to interrupt him before he could really get anywhere.  He’d tried to meditate everywhere, even on his ship, and something always seemed to happen.

So, Misha was feeling unsteady and distracted, and he was going to hit his breaking point far too soon.  Especially if Captain Whit didn’t stop switching between hot and cold when it came to dealing with him.  Sometimes, Misha thought the man only put up with him because of Misha’s habit of being stubbornly reticent whenever Whit tried to find out why Misha did the things he did.

And then _he_ arrived.  CT-9845, Del, one time member of the 124 th, and someone Misha had heard a few stories about.  Del, now a combat instructor for the Alliance, had once been a bully.  From where Misha stood, behind some of the other members of his squadron, not much had changed about the man.

“I’ve been sent here by the Alliance to oversee your basic hand to hand,” Del said, “that means I’m going to teach you how to punch people and not die in the process.  If you have a knack for it, there will be private lessons available.”

“What about prior training?”  Cordera asked.

“If you can take me in combat, then you can opt out of the lessons,” Del said, “but you have to be able to put me down.  I’ll make the offer at the end of today’s class, if you think that’s something you want to experience.  For now, we’re going to do some basic fitness exercises, see where you stand on those matters.”  Del stopped for a moment, and Misha realized the man’s pacing had brought him to see Misha clearly.

“Sir?”  Misha ventured.

“What is that on your head?”  Del asked.

Only old instincts kept Misha from touching his hair, “It’s called hair, sir.”  He gave Del’s bald head a pointed look, “I’m sure it’s been a few years since you’ve had any of your own, but it’s considered a standard aspect of the physical features of humans.”

Del stared at him for a moment as the other cadets murmured between themselves.  Misha could _hear_ Devlin’s muttered, “I did not sign up for this shit.”

“Down,” Del said, “give me fifty.”

“Yes sir,” Misha said.  He deserved it, there was no doubt, but it was worth it.  The push up form was automatic, he’d earned his fair share over the years once his dad had agreed to the training.  Hands just so, legs positioned there, he held himself a moment and then started, _solus, t’ad, ehn, cuir, rayshe’a._

“In silence if you please,” Del said.

“Sir, yes sir,” Misha said and pressed his lips more firmly together.  He was just passing twenty-seven when Del came to stand at his hip.  After a moment, and two more push-ups, Del put his foot on the small of Misha’s back and pressed down slightly.  Misha tilted his head slightly, because he knew this trick, his response was even easier.  He tapped the Force, drawing a small trickle inside to lend support to his body, slowly creating a platform of support as Del tried to increase his weight on Misha.

At fifty, Misha held himself in perfect form, despite the fact that Del was practically standing on him.  “I want everyone to notice this cadet’s posture,” Del said.  “See how his hands are placed?  The line from elbow to elbow, this is military precise.  This is the way you want to do push-ups.”  He moved his boot, “Stand up cadet.”  Misha stood up and faced the instructor.  “Where did you learn that?”

Misha swallowed, “My father, sir.  He’s old military, and I did three years with the Ilandrian Alliance Defense.”

“I’ll bet you saw a lot of the ground,” Del said.

Misha shrugged, “Depends on the day, sir.  Some days seem more likely than others.”

Del snorted, “Sounds about right.  You said your dad was old military?  Where’d he serve?”

“425th Search and Rescue,” Misha said with quiet pride.

Del nodded, “I met some of them in the war, saved my life.  You said he trained you?”

“Yes sir,” Misha replied.

“Then I hope you take up my challenge, it’ll be nice to spar with someone who knows that style again.”  Del said.

“I think I just might,” Misha allowed, thinking that maybe he’d misjudged this new uncle.

Del cleared his throat, “Now as I said, we’re going to do some fitness testing today, so fall in and let’s get started.  Step one is a proper stretch.”

Misha found himself flanked by Celchu and Cordera as they began to stretch out.  Cordera was shooting him narrow eyed looks whenever she could, and Celchu was just as pointedly _not_ looking at him.  Devlin, on the opposite side of the group, was also not looking at him.  Misha wondered when Devlin would just give in and request a new roommate.

The fitness testing wasn’t difficult, given there wasn’t much set up for things like climbing practice or even long runs over obstacles, but they were all feeling the workout when Del called for fighting volunteers.  Misha let Cordera go first, wincing as Del proved that while Cordera was trained to an extent, she wasn’t quite the match of their trainer.  Celchu spoke up next, and went after Del with a silent intensity that did little to hide his default fighting style, or the raging pain that led to him giving Del opportunity after opportunity to land hard punches.  Del clearly picked up on it, though, because he didn’t pull his punches, but he didn’t unleash on Celchu the way he had on Cordera.  Still, in the end, Celchu was sent back in line with a defeat.

Misha stepped forward next, bouncing on his toes at the prospect of having a spar with his new uncle.  They faced off for a long moment before Misha threw a punch, feinting to try a jab to Del’s hip.  Del managed to block him, but it definitely broke the ice.  They were at each other within moments of Misha getting his feet set again.  It was just like sparring with his buir or the ba’vodu, and Misha let himself fall into the pattern of block and strike.

Then Del pulled a neat move that had Misha using a back handspring to escape and he whistled, _“Kandosii!”_

Del laughed and Misha took a stab with one of his favorite moves, and was faintly disappointed when Del countered it.  _“Nar dralshy'a,”_ he taunted.

Misha laughed and broke the GAR pattern for a trick he’d picked up from one of the Mandalorians that his cousin Backhand kept hooking up with.  It worked, Misha had Del down and out.

“Ha,” Misha said, _“Ke nu'jurkadir sha Vod'ade!”_

Del chuckled, “You’ve got skill.” He picked himself up, “I guess your buir kept the language?”

“That and my cousin keeps shacking up with _Mando’ade_ ,” Misha said, “it was self-defense.”

“And _‘Vod’ade’?_   Children of the brothers?” Del repeated.

Misha flushed, “I may have forgot I wasn’t at home.  It’s, it’s not important.”

Del stared at him for a very long moment before he dusted his hands off.  “Either way, I’m impressed,” Del said, “I’ve probably got some tricks you could stand to learn though.”

“I’d be honored to learn,” Misha replied.

“That will have to wait a while.”

“Officer on deck,” Del announced and Misha fell in with his peers as they saluted.

“At ease, Blue Squadron,” Commander Fa said.  “We’ve been contacted by Command, one of our survey ships has submitted a distress call and we’re closest.  You’ll be flying escort while we investigate.  Get your gear and let’s move.”

“Sir yes sir,” Misha said in unison with the others, feeling the apprehensive glee of the group as they headed for the barracks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may regret this chapter.

The R5’s screen designation was Calamity.  Misha stared at it for a long moment, “Please tell me you’re joking.”

_No, sir.  My last pilot said I had the worst luck he’d ever seen.  Usually he called me Cal._

“Cal it is,” Misha said with a sigh.

“All right, Blue Squad, call it in,” Captain Whit said.

“Blue Two, four green.”

“Blue Three, four green.”

Misha swallowed, “Blue Four, four green.”

He muted the com, “So Cal, how many pilots have you had?”

_You are second pilot.  First pilot became a dad and switched to big ship.  Wanted to be safe._

“Well, I’m glad you’re with me.  I could use someone with Alliance experience watching my back up there,” Misha said.  “Are you familiar with Mando’a?”

_No._

Misha smiled, “Well, as a general rule, I am used to speaking Mando’a almost as much as I do Basic.  Fair warning.”

_I will find language update when we return._

“Thank you,” Misha said, pleasantly surprised.  “I haven’t worked much with an astromech, let me know if I need to be aware of things.”

_Of course._

“All right Blue Squadron, we’re going to launch and rendezvous with _Pathfinder_ for the hyperspace jump.  When we get to the target system, we’ll be standing by in our cockpits for deployment against Imperials.  If they show up, we’ll launch, if they don’t, then we’ll stay where we are until the shuttles are docked.”

“Basically, we’re just going to hang out in the X-Wings for a day,” Misha muttered.

“What was that, Blue Four?”  Whit snapped.

“Nothing sir,” Misha said promptly.  “Just trying to remember something.”

“Let’s go, Blues,” Whit said.

Misha closed his eyes, silently reciting the plethora of curses he’d learned from a family of old soldiers.  Then he reached over and muted the mic again pointedly.  “Cal, do me a favor,” he said.

_Yes?_

“Never unmute my mic without warning me, ever,” Misha said.  “And if I unmute my mic, I’d like a noise to warn me, because I cannot get caught snarking over the radio this early.  Getting passed training is more important that my commentary on matters.”

_Understood._

He could imagine what his uncles would say if he got sent home because he couldn’t keep it professional on the radio.  It would be worse than borrowing Master Jaren’s _aethersprite_ for a joy ride he was sure.  They lifted off in formation and headed up to the _Pathfinder._   Misha kept his position relative to Devlin as they landed inside the bay.  This was going to be a long and boring flight, he could tell.

At least when they got to their goal, there was something interesting going on, an Imp scout ship had arrived and they were launching to defend the shuttles within minutes of arrival.  Misha had only fought against pirates, and he’d never recorded a confirmed kill, so he still felt a flutter of nervousness when Captain Whit ordered them to split s-foils into attack position.

Then there was no real time for thought as they met the TIEs.  Misha opened himself up slightly, carefully, letting his awareness out just enough to enhance his battle awareness just in time to dive out of a missile lock.  He darted back to Devlin’s side, shooting at a TIE that had gotten on Devlin’s ass during his momentary evasion.

It blew up and Misha bared his teeth, first kill.

Suddenly the Force surged, yanking his attention off the battlefield.

_It was dark, he could barely see enough to make out another person sitting beside him before flashing green and blue light lit the man’s face.  It was an uncle, one familiar enough that Misha knew he knew his name.  “The thing is, Lusankya is beautiful this time of year.”  Then there was a sharp, tearing pain in his stomach._

Misha jerked back into the real world with a keen, his awareness flooding with shouting on his comm from the Captain, Devlin, and other voices he couldn’t quite make out.  Misha snapped the X-Wing over so hard that he slammed into his seat for a nigh interminable moment, and then he was clear of the danger that had everyone shouting at him.

“I’m here,” he managed after a moment, “Blue Four, shit, I’m here.  What the fuck?”

“You stopped responding,” Devlin said, “you weren’t even dodging TIEs, what the hell?”

“I don’t kriffing know,” Misha said, letting his confusion and terror of the vision bleed through, as if he didn’t know why he’d gone unresponsive in the middle of a battle.

“Blue Four, get back to the _Pathfinder,_ ” Captain Whit ordered.  “Report to medical.  You were unresponsive for nearly five minutes.”

“But,” Misha began.

“Are you questioning an order?”  Captain Whit asked.

Misha sighed, “No sir.”

He made his way out of the fight, moderately reassured that he wasn’t leaving much before the others.  He landed in the hanger bay and climbed out, ignoring the ground crew and their approaching ladder to scramble down on his own.

“Captain says you’re reporting to medical,” the deck officer said.

“Yes,” Misha said, “I- I think I blacked out or something.  I feel fine, and I didn’t have any alerts in my life support systems.”

“I’m going to have Pete walk you up there,” the deck officer said, waving over a Besalisk.

“Pete,” Misha said.

“I like my name,” Pete said.

“Not judging, just checking,” Misha said.  “My family sets store by the name you use and making sure you get it right.”

Pete hummed thoughtfully, then gestured, “All right pilot, let’s go.”

“My name is Misha,” Misha offered.

“Misha,” Pete said.  He smiled at Misha, “I like you.”

Master Kara had said that there was nothing like getting a backslap from a Besalisk who liked you.  Misha had to agree as he caught himself on the strut of his X-Wing from the enthusiastic gesture.

“Pete, he’s already going to the medics, don’t break him any further,” the deck officer exclaimed.

“I’m sorry,” Pete said.

“I’m fine,” Misha said rolling his shoulder, “Let’s get going, yeah?”

“Sure,” Pete said.  They headed towards medical and after a moment Pete said, “About the X-Wing, you said the life support seemed all right?”

Misha blinked, “Yeah, I mean, there weren’t any alarms or anything, it was all green.  I just blacked out or something.  Captain said I was unresponsive for five minutes.”

“You remember anything at all?”  Pete asked.

“No,” Misha said.  “I was thinking about the fact that I’d made my first kill, then everyone was yelling at me.”

Pete eyed him for a moment, “I’ll make sure we check the air filters when I get back, and the scrubbers.”

“I hope we can figure this out, I’d hate to end up grounded because of a mystery,” Misha said.  He knew exactly what the problem was, but he couldn’t tell them that.  The Force had needed him to be aware of something so strongly it had moved the first time Misha had reached for it.  He needed to meditate in the worst way.

The medical bay on the _Pathfinder_ was handled by a Twi’lek and a pair of medical droid.  “Thanks for escorting him,” the Twi’lek said.

“No problem,” Pete said.

Misha settled on one of the beds, eyeing the droid that was hovering nearby.  “Don’t worry,” the Twi’lek said, “I’ll be checking you over.  Not everyone’s comfortable with droids.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been checked over by a medical droid,” Misha said.

“Well, today won’t break that streak,” the Twi’lek said, “I’m Doctor Besan.  Now, what happened, from your point of view?”

“I moved to avoid a shot, came back around on my wingman’s tail to take out the TIE that was targeting him.  TIE blew up, and then everyone was screaming at me, I almost hit the other ship, and I’d apparently been unresponsive for five minutes.”  Misha said.  “I don’t know what happened.”

He had a moment where he knew that Doctor Besan didn’t believe him, but he did the only thing he really could, lift his chin up slightly and watch.  They were alone in the medbay, and Misha knew that if he really needed to, he had another option for this.

“You have no history of blackouts or absence seizures?”  Doctor Besan asked.

“No sir,” Misha said.

“Did you consume any strange liquids or solids before the fight?”  Doctor Besan said.

Misha hesitated, “I had caff, but that’s it.  And while I feel that a joke about the caff is somewhat obligatory.”  He rubbed his left elbow with his right thumb, “My dad and I, we don’t drug up.  Caff is about our limit.  We have adverse reactions, but it’s more that, well, my dad refers to it as cruel and unusual strategic planning.”

“And you?”  Doctor Besan asked.

Misha shrugged slightly, “Well, I have an almost artistic burn pattern on my thigh and calf from my one encounter with stims.  I prefer to maintain a more natural chemical balance.”

“You can’t think of anything that might have caused this?”  Doctor Besan asked.

Misha pressed his thumb into his elbow and opened reached for the Force, putting its strength into his words, “I do not know what cause me to black out today.”

After a moment, the doctor nodded, “I’m going to run a series of medical scans, see if there is a physical origin.  Hopefully something will come up.”

Misha nodded, “Whatever you need, sir.”


End file.
